Happily Eclectic Rattle Bag of Reviews

I've just returned from Florence, somewhere I've wanted to go since I was, ooh, ten...Blame Room with a View. I can still quote worryingly large chunks of the film and yes, I'm afraid that I do prefer it to the book. The book is brilliant, of course, but each time I reread it, new sadnesses and class issues emerge and it's just not as joyous as the film. So there. I know I should be loyal to the literature but the film just is a dose of sunny happiness and romance.
Slightly drifting off on a tangent. So. Florence. The city itself didn't win my heart as I had expected it too - far too many tourists and the shops were all far too same-same international tatarama. There was no sense of the Florentine way of life. I;m sure if you lived there that you would work out the best local areas but even the quieter squares still seemed to have American art students lounging around. I far preferred Pisa; there I had a real feeling of all the Pisans coming out and about for their Sunday outing, dressed in their best.
However, what I cannot get over were Michelangelo's unfinished struggling slaves. Yes, The Uffizi was crammed with the most amazing art and put together in a thoughtful and clear way, and yes, David turned out to be far more than just a naked fitty. If it didn't sound too prim I would say that to label him so would be a bit of an insult - he seemed far too much of a hero with a really commanding presence. Awesome. In the full sense of the word. No, what I keep on returning to is the statues that line the corridor in the Accademia leading up to David. I had no idea they are unfinished - although I did think that they were surprisingly modern, emerging from the lumps of rock and not completely sculpted out. But that's what I loved. It seemed that there was something almost primordial about the muscular figures straining desperately to break free from the rock. I thought it was Renaissance Man trying to shake off the past and push into a more developed, more beautiful form. But no. Just unfinished. That doesn't remotely diminish their power for me, though. I've never had a 'favourite' piece of art before but at the moment, they are exactly that. Sensual, powerful, sheer strength, muscle and human longing. Mental and physical determination caught in a lump of rock. Intense. Duuude. Sorry, I couldn't help deflating that last bit of oooh-ing. Arrgh, boss back. Finito hear. Final thought: Vivoli icecream, bliss. Honey my top flavour. Mmm.

I'm surreptitiously writing this at work and in fact, I feel far too furtive...I may have too keep this brief, and passing short. This is my final day, glory be, as a temp at a solicitor's office in Saaaf Landan. As of Tuesday, I'll be back in Holborn, happily surrounded by impoverished literary dreamers, all hoping to break into publishing, all making do with a customer service-y job at an admittedly gorgeous book company. So. No. Not an editorial job, but it's a toe in the door of publishing and companies like Faber might rather like that I'm there. However! The main glorious advantage is the working hours - 8am - 2pm one week, 2pm -8pm the next! Pretty awesome. I must must must make use of this time. I had pie-in-the-sky dreams of maybe doing an MA but now I'm more realistically thinking of editorial courses or at the very least unpaid work in an editorial office. This is the one Definite Thing that I can achieve. Write reviews of whatever takes my fancy. Books, exhibitions, bars, theatre, dance, the sea...anything...
I'll stop my rambling here for it's pretty self-absorbed stuff and I can't ignore the, sigh, filing anymore.